Worth Saving
by Rachel500
Summary: John and Rodney face an investigation into Wallace's death when Jack visits Atlantis.


Stargate Atlantis is somebody else's, probably MGMs, and I freely admit that whoever's it is, I'm borrowing their show and they retain all rights, etc.

**Author's Note: **So this started out life last year as a Sam in Atlantis story as I wanted to add to my previous collection of stories by having Jack go to visit while she was there. However, in choosing Miller's Crossing as the launch point, I made a tactical error as John and Rodney were both quick to point out that it was really their story. Hence major rewrite. Then, as it is likely that I'll continue my SG1 TAG series Aftershocks with Stargate Atlantis, I debated whether to leave this until some vague point in the future when I would TAG Miller's Crossing for that series. And then I realised that it could be years before I get there so just to post it already. So here we are.

Note: John & Rodney friendship with implicit background Sam/Jack. TAG to Miller's Crossing.

**Worth Saving**

John woke with a startled gasp for breath.

For a whole minute, he sat up in bed, clutching at his chest and trying to remember how to breathe, bathed in the early morning light drifting in through the window where he'd left his curtains open again.

The second minute was spent denying that for the eighth day in a row he'd woken up with the same panic clawing at him as it had when Rodney volunteered to be the Wraith's dinner, and battling the violent urge to radio Rodney and check that he was OK.

That urge was all but drowned out by the surge of regret, bitter and sharp, for his role in Henry Wallace's sacrifice and the heavy knowledge that he was damned glad it was Wallace and not Rodney.

John pushed back the covers and got up. He changed and headed out to meet Ronon for their morning run. They stretched in silence before setting off. John wondered if Ronon had worked out what happened; wondered if Ronon hated him for feeding a Wraith a human life even if the human involved had kidnapped and almost killed Rodney's sister. John had sent him back to report to Sam after the Wraith's arrival so maybe he hadn't worked it out. But he won't ask Ronon if he knew and Ronon won't tell so...John figured denial was a good place to be.

Teyla might have pressed John on what was bothering him but she was reeling from the loss of her people, too focused on that to see anyone else's emotions for once. God knew, John didn't blame her for being distracted; it was a huge loss, one he could barely comprehend and which left him flailing on the best way to comfort her, believing his promise to help her as much as they could wasn't enough. But even so…while John was grateful she wasn't beating him with sticks to get him to confess what was wrong, he was a little resentful that she hadn't noticed that something _was_ wrong.

Rodney knew. His friend had tried three times to thank him, to talk as much as they ever talked about anything, but John didn't want to talk about it with Rodney. John wasn't sure if he was ready to fully admit out loud what he'd done; worried that he might have scared Rodney; terrified in ways he couldn't articulate that he might _not_ have scared himself.

The whole Wallace mess was just that: a mess. John would be content to sweep it under the metaphorical rug and forget about it if he could only find a way of waking up without the panic.

It was a thought that stayed with him through a reasonably uneventful day. A couple of teams went off-world and returned with the news that no-one had any idea what had happened to the Athosians. John had presented the training session they'd planned for the Marines to Sam and gotten her sign-off. He'd attended two briefings; one on the situation with the Replicator code, one on a planet that had dinosaurs that some scientist on staff wanted to explore. John and Rodney spent that one exchanging Jurassic Park references until Sam shot them a look that said if they made one more she would be feeding them to the dinosaurs. John had checked on the Wraith; checked on Rodney; checked to make sure the Wraith hadn't eaten Rodney.

John had just finished his dinner when the communication filtered through the radio. _Unscheduled incoming wormhole. _He arrived in time to hear Chuck tell Sam it was Midway; General O'Neill.

John stood next to the gate technician while Sam skipped down the stairs to greet O'Neill. The General was in the BDUs he preferred, a suit-bag hooked over one shoulder, a duffle in his other hand. The silver hair was shorter than John remembered but it was ruffled much like John's own. Sam smiled a welcome and O'Neill smiled back but it soon faded.

Part of John hoped that O'Neill was on a surprise visit to see Sam. He never listened to rumours (if he did, it always turned out that he was supposedly sleeping with everybody) but he had his own suspicions about their relationship since he'd spotted a personal photo of the General in Sam's quarters when she'd moved in. But another part of him pointed out in a voice that sounded far too much like Rodney that John wasn't that lucky, and when the General's gaze landed on him for a long moment, John was certain of it. John gave a wary nod of acknowledgement as Sam led the General up and away into her office.

John was tempted to head straight for the puddle jumper bay and take one out for a spin so he could be somewhere else when the call came in for him to join them. Instead, he lurked in the control area, appropriated a chair and waited. He took out his PDA to look occupied.

Rodney showed up soon after, taking over a computer station, and wondering out loud to anyone in earshot why O'Neill was there. John ignored him, one eye sneaking to Sam's office so frequently that he immediately knew when Sam straightened and tapped her earpiece.

"_Rodney; John; could you step in here, please?"_ Sam requested.

Rodney shut down his work and they walked over quickly. John shut the door behind them and stood next to Rodney beside Sam's desk. Sam moved to stand near to them as O'Neill got to his feet.

"Did you honestly think anyone was going to buy that Wallace had a lab accident?" O'Neill asked caustically.

John froze. He smoothed his face into an expressionless mask that hopefully said 'I don't know what you're talking about.' It didn't matter because Rodney's reaction was to go red, then white; guilt written all over his face as clearly as a jagged line on a polygraph as he darted one hand around as though seeking to pluck an argument he could use from thin air.

"Sir," John shifted into a formal position, hands behind his back and legs apart, "you should know that Rodney had nothing..."

"Ack!" O'Neill lifted a finger, cutting him off. "I'm going to leave Carter to explain the rest to you. I've had a long journey."

"I'll get some food sent to you." Sam said. She was already reaching for her earpiece.

Jack nodded, picked up his bags and left. Sam finished her orders and waved John and Rodney into chairs as she retook her own seat.

Rodney practically vibrated with impatience. "Sam..."

She raised her hand. "Let me explain it and we'll go over any other questions you have then."

"But..."

"Rodney." John's quiet admonishment did the trick and Rodney subsided into an unhappy heap in his chair. John slouched as though unconcerned but every muscle in his body was tense.

Sam shot him a grateful look and cleared her throat. "Interested parties who were aware of the existence of the programme raised concerns over Wallace's demise back on Earth. The Air Force, and specifically General O'Neill, stepped in when these parties demanded an investigation. The President had conceded that the Air Force has jurisdiction as the alleged crime happened on an Air Force base and the alleged suspect is an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel. The caveat was that they want the investigation recorded and the President has agreed to this. So, tomorrow, there will be two interviews with the General; one with you, Rodney, mainly about context and one with you, John, on the specifics of the incident. You'll need suits; make sure you look presentable."

Rodney muttered miserably underneath his breath and crossed his arms tight over his chest.

"Understood." John replied.

"Now, in your interviews..."

"I think we know what to do, Sam." Rodney interrupted.

"In your interviews," Sam repeated tersely, "you will only answer the question you are asked as succinctly as possible without providing any additional and unasked for information. Is that understood?"

Both John and Rodney answered "yes" in the same grudging tone that a teenager might have replied to their mother.

"Look," Sam sat back and regarded them seriously, "you need to put your game faces on here."

And just like that John knew she knew, and that O'Neill knew. He was a bit stunned at the lack of judgement they'd exhibited.

"Do exactly what I've said and by this time tomorrow, it should all be over." Sam finished.

Rodney frowned. "You're seriously expecting us to believe this isn't a witch hunt?"

"That might be what someone hoped would happen." Sam allowed. "But the General managed to get control of this. He's not here on a witch-hunt and he's going to do everything he can to make sure we don't lose you, John."

John was not entirely sure how O'Neill planned to bail him out; if he could bail him out. The report was a pack of lies; John had contravened God only knew how many regulations, broken at least one very big law, and he'd done it all without the flimsy protection of his chain of command. Sam had been too far away, and while he could have gone to Landry, John had never had the type of relationship with that particular General that made him think he'd get a positive response.

John nodded; his mind racing. "If that's all..." He was already half-way off his chair when Sam waved them out.

John sidestepped Rodney, muttered an apology and ostensibly went in search of Major Lorne to inform him of developments. But John ended up on a distant balcony. He knew he'd have to reassure Rodney before the interviews but the panicky feeling in his chest was back and John needed a minute to breathe.

o-O-o

Rodney let out an impatient huff as he brushed off John's offer to help him with his tie. "I can do it."

"Sure." John agreed with some of his usual easy sarcasm but he sat back down on Rodney's bed. John was in a t-shirt and combat pants; he hadn't changed as his interview wasn't until after lunch.

Rodney wished his interview was after John's but he had been scheduled first. Guilt slithered through Rodney. He had spent all night trying to think up ways to get John out of the investigation, but short of taking the blame himself, something he knew he couldn't since John had made sure that there were witnesses to Rodney being elsewhere at the time of Wallace's accident, he couldn't see a way out. Well, apart from grabbing John and a puddle jumper and taking off for the wild unknown of the Pegasus galaxy, and it was slightly worrying that he hadn't ruled that out.

It was all his fault. His fault for sending Jeannie the emails; his fault for getting kidnapped and convincing Jeannie to try and escape; his fault for provoking Wallace into injecting her with the nanites. His fault for...

"All done." Rodney said too brightly. He took a deep breath because he didn't want to freak John out by freaking out about the interview again. He'd done it the night before once John had swung by after informing Lorne of the investigation. The official email from Sam to the rest of the expedition said 'performance review.' Rodney had ranted about that for a good five minutes before realising John looked pale as though the reality of it all had sunk in. Luckily, Ronon and Teyla had dropped by to offer words of encouragement and support – or in Ronon's case a slap on the back.

Rodney's hands fluttered over his outfit. It was a grey suit teamed with a pale blue shirt and a pale grey tie. He hoped it projected professionalism and confidence.

"You look good." John confirmed.

"Really?" Rodney hated the note of uncertainty that tinged the word but John simply nodded.

"Just, you know, do what Sam said and this should all be over soon." John didn't look like he believed it any more than Rodney did.

"Right." Rodney tried a confident smile but it felt more like a grimace. He collapsed onto his bed beside John with a groan. "This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. I'm not good at bluffing and I'm a terrible liar."

"Rodney," John said with some exasperation, "I doubt very much that the General's going to outright ask anything specific so relax."

John was probably right. Rodney had a sneaking suspicion that Jack O'Neill had a soft spot for John - possibly related to John saving his life a couple of times; that O'Neill knew what John had done but wanted to help him anyway so part of that was probably not asking questions that would reveal anything too incriminating.

"Right. I'm relaxed." Rodney stated.

John sighed. He looked as though he hadn't slept. "I have to..." he gestured at the door. "Are you..."

"I'll be fine." And he would be because John was depending on him to be fine; John's continued assignment to Atlantis was resting on Rodney being fine.

Another slither of guilt snaked through Rodney's gut.

John hesitated as though he was contemplating saying something more but he nodded and left. Rodney checked his appearance in the mirror again and headed for the conference room where the interviews were taking place.

His outfit elicited more than one double take as he made his way through the airy and bright Atlantean corridors, but the second looks were usually accompanied by a nod and the words 'good luck' which remind him again why he loved Atlantis. His hands curled into sweaty fists and he had to fight the urge to wipe them off on his pants. He could do this, Rodney told himself briskly, he could did this for John, especially after what John had done for him.

Sam greeted him outside the room. She was in her service dress; blouse, jacket and skirt. Her hair was neatly arranged in a chignon; her make-up subtle and alluring. She looked beautiful but he was too nervous to appreciate her.

"Ready?" She said in a low voice.

He didn't answer for a long moment, so afraid he was going to screw up and John was going to end up in a prison cell for the rest of his life.

"It's going to be OK, McKay." Sam said quietly. "Trust me." Her hand on his arm grounded him.

Rodney looked at her and took another deep breath. Of course, if there was one person who Sam trusted more than anyone in the entire universe, it was O'Neill. And they were on their side; his and John's. Maybe not to the extent that Elizabeth Weir would have been but enough that he knew he could trust them.

Sam gave an approving nod at whatever expression had replaced the panic. She pushed him gently into the room. Rodney found O'Neill sat at the head of the table and looking at a laptop. The General was also in his service dress with an impressive number of medals and ribbons adorning it.

O'Neill waved him into a seat while Sam sorted out the video.

"For the record," O'Neill began, "your name and position."

Rodney answered smartly with his usual emphasis on _Doctor_.

"Give a brief description of your responsibilities here on Atlantis."

O'Neill didn't even bother looking up from his monitor and Rodney almost snapped at him for wasting time with nonsensical questions, wanting to get on with it already.

Sam shot him a warning look and Rodney obediently recited off the official list of duties that Elizabeth had forced him to write when the Atlantis expedition was debriefing on Earth after their first year. He missed Elizabeth all over again by the time he finished, with the memory of putting together the list as clear in his head as the day that it had happened.

O'Neill glanced up as though to check Rodney had actually stopped talking and went on with his next question. "Describe your relationship with Jeannie Miller."

"She's my sister." Rodney answered with a silent 'idiot.'

O'Neill nodded. "Just over a week ago, you and she were kidnapped by Henry Wallace. She was injected with experimental nanites," his mouth twisted at the word and Rodney was reminded that O'Neill had experience of the things personally, "by him in order to force you into completing the coding in nanites he had also injected into his sick daughter, was that correct?"

"Yes." Rodney barely stopped himself from saying anything else; to flow into a rant on Wallace and to explain what had happened. Only the knowledge that he would end up babbling about his own terror at seeing Jeannie injected stopped him.

"Could you explain what the nanites are and why they are experimental?"

"In simplistic terms, the nanites are small microscopic robots," Rodney explained swiftly, "they can be programmed to perform a variety of functions such as aging..."

O'Neill looked up for the first time and glared at him.

"...or in this case, medical repair." Rodney hurried out. "The idea behind this is brilliant, even if I do say so myself; you programme the nanites to repair the human body. It could literally be the answer to curing cancer, brain disease, any number of conditions." His hands weaved in excited passion across the table.

"But." O'Neill prompted.

"As we've said the nanites are experimental." Rodney sighed. "The original, uh, test was performed on replicator nanites but obviously those are too dangerous to use so Wallace used a human equivalent which are not quite so sophisticated. There are two issues with the ones he...he..." His breathing escalated as he talked; his heart pounded with remembered fear. He paused and tried to calm down. "The ones he used." He rushed out quickly.

"On his daughter and your sister." O'Neill stated.

Rodney glared at him for the reminder but he realised from the strangely compassionate warmth in O'Neill's brown eyes that he wasn't trying to hurt Rodney but to remind the anticipated audience of the video about Wallace's actions.

"Yes," Rodney confirmed slowly, "the ones Wallace used on his daughter and my sister."

"The two issues, Doctor McKay?" O'Neill said brusquely.

"Right." Rodney gestured towards O'Neill. "Well, effectively there's one issue with the hardware and another with the software. The hardware isn't resilient and it has a shelf-life which is the reason why Wallace's daughter ultimately died although the damage had already been done because of the software issue. It was why Wallace kidnapped myself and Jeannie. He thought we could complete the programming code."

"And did you?"

"Crudely." Rodney grimaced. "The original code is replicator code. It's not...not easy to understand or to anticipate the outcome when you change it."

"And the outcome in this case?" O'Neill continued ruthlessly.

"We managed to programme the nanites to fix the human body but they had no real understanding of the complexity of what they were doing. They attempted to fix Sharon Wallace's heart murmur but they shut down the heart to fix it without considering the impact to the rest of the body." He wet his lips. "Effectively they killed her by depriving her brain of oxygen. My sister...my sister has epilepsy. There was a danger that once they identified the condition, the nanites would shut down her brain to fix it."

"The medical staff broke her legs to give the nanites something else to fix." O'Neill stated.

Rodney nodded miserably.

"You requested the help of the Wraith to work on a shut-down code for the nanites."

It was another statement and again Rodney nodded. "General Landry and Colonel Carter authorised his travel to the SGC in order to assist me."

O'Neill clasped his hands on top of the table and pinned McKay with a hard stare. "Do you believe that he would have been able to finish the coding without...eating?"

"No." Rodney shook his head. "His focus _was_ slipping and he collapsed with weakness. I know how that felt being hypoglycaemic myself and…"

"You reported this to Colonel Sheppard?" Jack asked, cutting Rodney off briskly before he could get started on a treatise about the condition.

Rodney finally darted a look at Sam. She nodded almost imperceptibly. He had to admit this; had to admit that he was the one who provided John with motive to do what he did. But he didn't want to admit it: not to himself never mind to anyone else, never mind to _John_.

"Yes." Rodney allowed shortly.

But the want and need to explain, to tell them everything, that it was all his fault because he'd told John he would sacrifice himself to save his sister, was almost too much. He dropped his gaze immediately, aware that the video was picking up everything.

"You weren't present in the lab for the rest of events?" Jack asked briefly.

"No." Rodney had been locked out of the lab by John. He'd only found out when it had all been over. He closed his eyes at the memory of the body bag being wheeled away and the look in John's eyes. Guilt assaulted him again.

"Thank you." Jack stood. '"That will be all."

"That's it?" Rodney spluttered, unable to believe it was over.

"Thank you for your participation, Doctor." O'Neill said and nodded to Sam to shut down the video.

Sam reached over and the small click echoed in the room. Sam gently nudged Rodney and they headed out of the conference room.

"Was that..." Rodney's mouth dried up as he turned to her in the corridor. "Was that OK?"

"You did good, McKay." Sam patted his arm.

Somehow the reassurance was not half as comforting as Rodney thought it would be.

o-O-o

The sudden hush as he entered the mess made John realise he had miscalculated. He ignored the urge to glance down at his service dress. He should have had lunch first and then changed, John considered ruefully. Of course, he'd left both changing and eating to the last moment so there wasn't any time to redo his decision.

He headed toward the cabinet with the sandwiches, abruptly deciding to go eat in the office he shared with Lorne. He picked up a turkey sandwich, an apple and a bottle of water. His eyes caught on a table of female scientists who usually never gave him the time of day but who were apparently fascinated with his uniform. Any other time he might have been amused. He smiled tightly and left.

Lorne was caught up in paperwork when John entered and paid no attention as John slid into the chair behind his own desk and opened the sandwich.

John's stomach rolled over in protest at the idea of food; he managed two bites before he abandoned it and picked up the water.

Rodney had already radioed him to tell him his interview had gone OK according to Sam. Rodney had also hesitantly instructed John not to do something stupid in his own interview. John knew Rodney was vaguely worried that John would suddenly have the urge to blurt out the truth to the General. John was only too aware that it was a valid worry; John had been skating over his guilty conscience with the mantra that he'd only presented the situation for the last nine days and the ice was wearing thin.

"You should eat something, sir." Lorne said without looking up from whatever form he was filling in with a diligence John appreciated because it meant less work for him.

John stared down at the food. One edge of the bread was curling up sadly, drying out rapidly in the air-conditioned office. "Don't want to get mayonnaise on the suit."

Lorne hummed but he didn't say anything else. John was reminded of the Major's words after John had explained the investigation; _"I'm sure General O'Neill and Colonel Carter will get this sorted out quickly, sir."_ John wondered at the total confidence Lorne had in O'Neill and Carter. It wasn't hero worship because he'd seen that in others at the SGC but it was a certainty that came with experience. John forgot sometimes that Lorne was a veteran of the Stargate programme.

There was a faint knock on the door before it opened.

Sam poked her head into the room. "We're ready for you, John."

John got to his feet.

"Good luck, sir." Lorne called out as John fell into step beside Sam.

They didn't talk on the way to the room and John forced himself to pretend a casual air he didn't feel. The room felt cold when John entered it. The General was waiting impatiently on the other side of the table and John automatically snapped into the 'attention' stance that had been drilled into him. He was trying to treat this with the seriousness that it warranted but he had to clamp down hard on the hysteria of fear and panic that threatened to bubble up into laughter.

"Sit down, Colonel." O'Neill said, taking his own seat with an audible thump.

John figured the first few questions covered some of the same ground that Rodney's interview must have covered; Wallace's abduction of Rodney and Jeannie, the rescue, the issue with saving Jeannie Miller's life and the use of the Wraith. John was quiet and composed with his answers, sticking to Carter's advice to only answer the question asked. Finally, they got to the point.

O'Neill settled back and waved a hand at him. "McKay informed you that the Wraith was unlikely to finish the coding due to it being weak with hunger."

"That's correct." John replied. A muscle worked in John's jaw; the only hint that Rodney's report had been followed by Rodney's plan to feed himself to the Wraith to save his sister.

"The reports showed that immediately after that meeting you went to see Wallace." Jack noted crisply, tapping the laptop in front of him. "Why?"

John didn't flinch. "There were a few details I needed to go over with him." He saw O'Neill's eyes narrow on him, a warning presumably not to be overly cocky but the answer had a ring of authenticity that John knew would play well on the video.

"And in going over these details, you told him about the situation with Mrs Miller and the issue with the Wraith?" O'Neill continued smoothly.

"Yes." John didn't bother to deny it. In his mind, it was another piece of honesty in his favour.

O'Neill dropped his gaze to his notes. "Your report stated Wallace requested to see the latest research?"

"Yes."

"And you decided to take him on a jaunt to the lab with the Wraith inside of it?" The tone was suddenly hard and uncompromising. He looked up to pin John with a stern gaze.

John stiffened, sensing an attack but he didn't look away from the General. "It was where the latest research was, _sir_."

There was a hint of 'pissed off' and 'just what the hell were you accusing me of' in the sir.

"Why did you allow it?" O'Neill shot back.

John licked his lips, his mouth drying up as the memory assaulted him of Wallace volunteering his life to help Jeannie. "Wallace said he could help."

"Really?" O'Neill drawled. "You didn't find that unusual since he'd kidnapped McKay and Miller for _their_ help?"

"I was desperate." John retorted spiritedly. "So yes, when he said he could help, I believed him."

It was all truth. It just didn't mean what John hoped everybody else would be fooled into thinking it meant.

"You took two guards in with you but they reported you dismissed them almost immediately and told them to wait outside?"

John had looked after his men and ensured they wouldn't be implicated. "The Wraith was weak with hunger and I thought I could handle him on my own."

"Your report stated that Wallace was talking with the Wraith about the research and you turned away."

John lowered his gaze before the flinch of pain, of disgust, of horror, showed on his face. In truth he hadn't turned away at all.

"Yes." John answered shortly, managing to hold back the additional 'that's what the report said' which would be the give-away that the report was worthless as a record of what had happened.

"You realised there was a silence and turned back to find the Wraith moving away from Wallace who had been fed upon." O'Neill continued ruthlessly.

"Yes."

John winced as the emotion he couldn't hide vibrated through the single stark word; guilt, regret, hurt.

"He was dead?" O'Neill asked bluntly.

"He was."

"Why wasn't the Wraith forced to return Wallace's life?" O'Neill asked.

"I can answer that, General." Sam asserted, resting a hand on John's arm.

John turned to her gratefully. He knew she'd stepped in to give him a break, not because he couldn't answer the question and he appreciated the save. Maybe she also thought that it would carry more weight if she said it; she was the SGC's golden girl not a pilot with a black mark that would always be remembered by the people with power no matter what his accomplishments since.

"As you know we only realised the Wraith could return the life of someone they had taken because of Colonel Sheppard's experience after being tortured by the Wraith when he was captured by the Genii." Sam began. "Since the Wraith has been on Atlantis, I've spoken to it regarding its food requirements. I had hoped if it could feed temporarily, we could arrange something."

John blanched at that but he wasn't surprised she had already thought about it and investigated solutions.

"He informed me that it was only possible to return a life when he was fully fed. For example, the Wraith returned Colonel Sheppard's life after it fed upon several Genii soldiers."

"So, a hungry Wraith that had fed on one human...?" O'Neill's voice trailed away on a high questioning note.

"Can't return that life." Sam confirmed.

O'Neill turned back to John. "You immediately secured the Wraith and called for a medical team and the security guards?"

That part of it was backed up by several statements including Landry's. "Yes. We were in the process of removing the body when Doctor McKay arrived back at the lab."

"You know there's a cliché that comes to mind," O'Neill said caustically, "something about barns and doors and horses?"

"Yes, sir." Sheppard agreed softly. He looked down at the table.

O'Neill sighed heavily. "I think we're about done unless you have something you want to add."

John slid a look towards Sam. "I'd like to make a short statement." He'd already discussed it with her and she'd agreed.

Sam nodded at O'Neill.

"Go ahead, Colonel." O'Neill invited expansively.

John clasped his hands in front of him; his knuckles were white and there was a faint tremor in the fingers. He hoped it didn't show on the video. "I regret the death of Henry Wallace but I do not regret that it ultimately allowed the Wraith to finish the coding of the nanites which saved Doctor McKay's sister. I believe that Wallace's request to help and his silence during the feeding were an indication that he gave his life willingly as a way to redeem his previous actions. However, his death was my responsibility and I am prepared to accept the consequences."

O'Neill held John's gaze for a long moment, as though weighing everything John had said and not said. John knew O'Neill probably knew everything after his speech; that John had given Wallace a choice but that he had arranged it.

O'Neill nodded and looked over at Sam. She stopped the video.

John blew out a breath. "What now, sir?"

Sam passed O'Neill the small digital card that held the video. The General looked over at her, a half-formed question in his eyes that John couldn't interpret. She arched one elegant eyebrow, answering in a way that left John none the wiser. He'd be irritated with the almost telepathy if he didn't have the same kind of thing with his own team and hell, both O'Neill and Sam had more years of serving together than he had in the entire programme.

"Sir?" John prompted impatiently. He wanted it to be done with; to have O'Neill give him the verdict on the investigation and whether he could get back to his job or not.

"Tell me, Sheppard," O'Neill asked almost idly as though he was unconcerned at what the answer was going to be, "if Wallace hadn't invited himself along to the lab, who would have been on the menu?"

John knew the answer was on his face, in his eyes, before he could hide it.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." O'Neill said. He tapped his earpiece. "Doctor McKay to the conference room. Now, McKay."

John's heart sank.

o-O-o

Rodney bustled into the conference room, nerves churning through his entire being. His eyes skated over O'Neill sat sprawled in one chair, Sam sat at the table beside him, her expression calm but not giving away anything. His gaze finally settled on John. He looked too pale still; the deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth ruined the otherwise boyish visage. There was a curious mix of bewilderment and impatience in his chameleon eyes.

Rodney opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on but Sam cut in before he could get a word out.

"Sit down, Rodney." She ordered, pointing at the chair next to John.

Rodney huffed but he slipped into the seat with a questioning look at John. John barely hitched one shoulder in reply but it was enough to communicate that he had no idea why they'd called him back into the room. He wondered what John had said, more worried than ever that John had just confessed everything.

He turned to Sam and tried bluster; he'd always been a big fan of the 'attack first' strategy. "I'm sat so does anyone here want to tell me what the hell's going on?"

Sam exchanged a brief glance at O'Neill.

"What?" Rodney stormed, losing patience with the silent communication. "This whole investigation is an entire farce, isn't it! You're going to kick him back to Earth and it…it wasn't his fault! It was mine! Look, I'll sign a confession and I'll..."

John's hand landed heavy on his shoulder. "Rodney."

Rodney turned to John, his blue eyes pleading for some kind of reassurance. What the hell had John done? Had he confessed? Had they tortured him with some kind of...torture? Threatened Atlantis or his team...his hair? What? "He can't send you back! If you go, I go."

"Don't tempt me." O'Neill quipped.

Rodney whipped around ready to flay O'Neill verbally but John's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"I don't think that's the plan." John said warily, dropping his hand. Rodney immediately missed the comforting touch.

"Not the plan." O'Neill said agreeably, standing and pushing his hands into his pants' pockets. "As of this moment I'm sealing the Wallace incident as classified under my authority as Head of Homeworld Security."

Rodney's eyebrows shot up and he looked over at John. Could O'Neill do that? Just stamp the whole thing top secret and make it go away? John looked as unsure of the answer as Rodney.

"So the investigation..." Rodney said weakly.

"Is over." O'Neill lifted up the digital card and waved it about. "I even have it on video. However, even before conducting this investigation, there were aspects of this I didn't think we would want to get out beyond the programme and I'm more convinced than ever of that."

"Of what?" Rodney asked when it seemed nobody else was going to say anything.

Sam stood up and joined O'Neill; it was an obvious show of support and they presented a formidable front. "I'm sure we don't have to explain to you the weapons capability of the experimental nanites, Rodney. The nanites effectively could wipe out or disable a significant proportion of the population in their active state just by trying to fix human biological conditions."

Rodney winced. "Theoretically, yes, but…"

"But nothing." Sam said firmly. "The President has already agreed that it's too dangerous for that information to get out into the public domain."

"There's also the not so small matter about how easily Wallace was able to grab you and to obtain information he should never have been able to access." O'Neill added caustically. "And frankly, Wallace committed enough crimes here that if we don't classify it, his criminal behaviour will become public record."

And that Rodney thought was the clincher to shutting down whoever had asked for the investigation.

John shifted beside Rodney. "If you classify it and it comes out later, you'll be the one they come after, General."

Rodney only just stopped himself from telling John to keep his mouth shut and let O'Neill do it.

O'Neill shrugged as though he wasn't overly bothered by the thought. "Hell, Sheppard, if you had asked my permission, you would have had it." He threw a look at Rodney before returning his gaze to John. "The guy kidnapped two of our best people and almost killed one of them."

Rodney puffed up a bit at that because O'Neill had never said that to him before or indicated in any way that he appreciated Rodney's genius.

There was a strange silence.

Sam turned her gaze to John and Rodney did the same. John was looking at O'Neill as though the General had sprouted an extra head.

"Sir..." John looked pole-axed; he lifted a hand and dropped it again. For a second, his expression was as open as a book and Rodney had to look away. John didn't think he was worth it; it was written all over his face as plain as day.

Rodney looked at O'Neill and saw O'Neill's eyes narrow in John's direction. Rodney didn't think twice before he was moving to cover John, waving his hands to draw O'Neill's attention.

"What John was trying to say was thank you." Rodney stated.

John's guard was back up when Rodney sneaked another look at him. "Yes. Thank you." He said simply. "Both of you."

O'Neill exchanged another wry look at Sam that could mean half a dozen things and Rodney was not up to interpreting any of them. Although...

"This was the plan, wasn't it?" Rodney blurted out. "You were always going to do this even without the investigation." He gestured at the video camera. "What? You couldn't have just told us? We would have gone along with it!"

John raised an eyebrow as Sam's face took on a chagrined blush. "Rodney's right?" There was a hint of incredulity in his voice that annoyed Rodney because it was not like he was ever wrong. Well, most of the time.

"Oh, the investigation was real." O'Neill said brusquely. There was a warning glint in his eye that Rodney wanted to ignore.

Sam cleared her throat. "Although President Hayes was convinced by the General's arguments about why the matter shouldn't get any attention, it was decided it would play better with the individual who requested the investigation if that conclusion was reached after one took place. Your reactions on the video had to be real in case they check an investigation actually happened."

"Was that an apology? Because if that's an apology, it was a terrible apology." Rodney exclaimed.

"Rodney, maybe we should just be grateful that it's over?" John said firmly.

John had a point; they'd done what they'd done to protect John after all, and Rodney was grateful to them for that; really grateful in a way that if he was the type he'd be hugging them to within an inch of their lives.

O'Neill cleared his throat. "As of this moment, gentlemen, anyone asks you about this entire incident your only response is to say it is classified and any further questions should be responded to with your name, rank and serial number. Is that understood?"

Rodney raised his hand tentatively. "I don't, um, have a rank."

John elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ow!" Rodney glared at him.

John glared back.

"Fine," Rodney snapped, "let's just agree with the cliché even if it makes no sense in reality."

"Good." O'Neill stated. He looked at John with a measured consideration which worried Rodney all over again. "Well," he drawled, "I need a beer. Sheppard, you're keeping me company."

O'Neill waved at the door and John got to his feet to follow the General out.

Rodney felt John pat his back gently on his way out; a hesitant reassurance that Rodney could stand down and relax despite knowing John had tensed up the instant the General had requested his company. Rodney sat where he was, concern for John rocketing through him again.

"You're going to let your..." and Rodney refused to show that he'd heard about her relationship with O'Neill, "your _General_ take John off to drink beer? Is that even allowed when he's on duty?"

Sam sighed and picked up the General's abandoned laptop. She hit her earpiece. "Chuck, I'll be in my quarters changing if anyone needs me for the next thirty minutes." She held up a hand as Rodney opened his mouth to protest again. "That wasn't an invitation, McKay." She walked out before Rodney could say anything else, leaving him sat alone in the conference room.

Rodney shoved away from the table and wandered out into Operations.

"What happened?" Chuck asked; his face alive with curiosity.

"Never mind. Just..." Rodney waved a hand at the Stargate. "Carry on." He glared at Chuck just because he could and headed for his lab where he wouldn't be questioned or apparently be invited to drink beer.

o-O-o

If someone had told John that the day would end with him sitting on a remote balcony drinking beer with O'Neill, he would have laughed. He had been fairly certain that the day would end up with formal charges being pressed at worst, or, at best, a warning that O'Neill would do what he could to help John but that he couldn't guarantee anything. Unequivocal support in the shape of O'Neill classifying everything into officialdom hadn't been an option in John's head. "Thank you" didn't seem enough.

They sat on a balcony off a tower on the South pier; it had a great view one of the best in the city.

O'Neill had proclaimed his unhappiness at wearing the suit the minute they had cleared Operations so both of them had changed into BDUs before making their way to the balcony. The General had given a heavy sigh when he'd realised he was going to have to lower himself to the floor to sit down but other than that, they'd said nothing to each other, opening and drinking the first beer in silence.

John couldn't relax; he was too busy waiting for the other shoe to drop. As much as he wanted to pretend it was nothing more than two guys sitting having a beer, he knew better. He focused instead on the horizon; on the way the blue of the ocean was deeper than the Atlantean sky; on the ripples across the water that made him nostalgic for surfing and sailing; on the clouds that shuffled across the sky in a way that made him long for flight.

They set the empty bottles down either side of them and John reached into his cooler to grab the second round.

O'Neill took the bottle, unscrewed the top and flicked it off the balcony with complete disregard for anything below. "So."

John didn't know if that was an invitation to start talking or not so he stayed quiet because that was always his preferred option. It occurred to him that he didn't know O'Neill that well. He admired the man because anyone who could have survived what O'Neill had and who'd saved Earth so many times deserved admiration but beyond that? What he knew about O'Neill wouldn't have filled a postage stamp.

O'Neill sighed. "McKay was going to feed himself to the Wraith to save his sister, wasn't he?"

John lowered his bottle without taking a drink. O'Neill wasn't looking at him. He was looking out on the Atlantis skyline and John couldn't get a read on what O'Neill was thinking.

"I couldn't..." John began abortively. _Let that happen._ He couldn't talk about it. It replayed in his head endlessly enough as it was; Rodney stood in front of him, begging John to let him save Jeannie by feeding himself to the Wraith. John had said no but he'd known Rodney would find some way to did it regardless of John's decision. The tight panicky feeling that had plagued him ever since fluttered inside John's chest again.

"No." O'Neill agreed quietly and John knew he knew what John meant to say.

"About today..." But John didn't even know where to begin; what he could say. So he fell back into the familiar comfort of silence.

O'Neill glanced at him and he looked amused. "Geez, you're even worse than me, Sheppard, and that's saying something."

"Thank you, sir." John replied dryly and made the tactical error of meeting O'Neill's gaze.

"You deserved my support today." O'Neill paused for a long moment, his eyes holding John's in a way that made John want to squirm. "Even if you don't think you did."

John couldn't drop his gaze and he felt trapped. He was too close to showing O'Neill that he was right; that John really didn't think he was worth what O'Neill had done.

"Tell me," O'Neill said quietly, "is it _this_ in particular you don't feel you deserve support for or is it all the time?"

And that's why they made him a General, John thought, because O'Neill was nobody's fool. But even though his gaze was held tight, John wasn't going to answer; his guard was too ingrained, too much a part of him to be let go so easily.

O'Neill broke first, shifting to look at the sea again. "Yep; that's what I thought."

John didn't want to know what O'Neill had decided _was_ the answer but he was suddenly scared that O'Neill _knew_ and he felt too exposed.

"I am sorry about Wallace." John blurted out.

O'Neill glanced at him.

"I am." John was defiant in the face of the disbelief, because he was sorry. He wouldn't have wished a fate of being Wraith food on his worst enemy although arguably since his worst enemy was the Wraith… "Not about him being dead..." he said in a sudden burst of honesty, "but..."

"For your part in convincing him to be dish of the day." O'Neill stated insightfully, putting into words what they had tried so hard to avoid in the video interview; the truth of John's culpability.

John motioned with his bottle. "That." He admitted.

The beer sat uneasily in his gut and John worried briefly that it was about to make a reappearance as bile rose up. He took a deep breath until the nausea subsided. He shifted on the hard unyielding surface of the balcony floor. He didn't want to explain the disgust that he felt about giving up a human life, any human life, to a Wraith; how he felt like a Wraith worshipper; tainted.

O'Neill sighed quietly beside him. "You know the crazy thing about Special Forces?"

His tone was casual but the subject was anything but and the change to it was startling. John froze with the beer bottle almost to his lips before he lowered it again. "Sir?"

"They wanted you because you're independent, a think-on-your-feet type; not afraid to use your own initiative when you're out in the field and it's just you." O'Neill gestured wildly and beer spilled across the floor in a long arc. "They like that in a soldier. It keeps you alive; means the missions are successful more often than not."

John kept silent. He'd never talked about performing Special Ops with anyone; had never admitted what he was before Mitch and Dex had ended up dead and he'd been reassigned into combat rescue with Holland.

"And yet all the reasons why they wanted you are the reasons why the rest of the military think you're a rogue. You're independent; you think outside of the box; you use your own initiative." O'Neill continued.

John's heart was pounding.

O'Neill took a sip of beer. "Of course, mostly _you_ don't respect the chain of command."

John was literally breathless; he wasn't certain he could remember how to breathe. It was not the first time a senior officer had said something similar to him but usually they hadn't covered his ass the same day.

"And who can blame you." O'Neill continued as though he wasn't aware of John's escalating shock. "Hell, you're so used to your COC letting you take the fall, who can blame you for thinking it was going to happen again."

John opened his mouth to start some kind of defence but he couldn't start never mind finish. Because what could he say? That he wanted to protect Carter from the fallout not to mention she was a galaxy away? That he knew Landry would say no? That he couldn't take the risk with Rodney hovering ready to throw himself on the Wraith's feeding hand as soon as an opportunity presented itself?

O'Neill turned around suddenly and speared him with a knowing look as though he'd heard every word rambling through John's brain.

"Sir..."

"The problem though is that the chain of command is there for a reason, Sheppard." O'Neill nudged John's bare forearm with the cold sticky bottle. "You're not supposed to make these decisions alone; not supposed to carry the responsibility for them alone." He sighed. "And you know why I know this? Because George Hammond gave me this exact same speech."

"Ah." And just like that the tension bled away from John's shoulders as understanding zipped in to fill its place.

"Best damned CO I ever had." O'Neill sighed again.

"General," John began and he was fairly ecstatic that for the first time in their conversation he had begun a sentence that he knew how to finish, "if I had called you before..." he gestured with his own bottle at the distant horizon, "what would you have said?"

"Go save McKay's ass." O'Neill replied immediately. He looked over at John. "Because that's what it came down to, right? Saving him."

"Right." John drank down some of his beer. He was suddenly feeling more than a little tipsy and he remembered he had been too nervous about the interview to eat lunch or breakfast.

"It's a mutual ass-saving thing. We save their asses, they save _our_ asses." O'Neill continued. 'And generally when they're saving our asses, they're saving the planet. Or the galaxy. Maybe a universe."

Yeah. O'Neill got it. John just needed to work out how he lived with what he'd done. He was unaware he was saying so out loud until O'Neill answered him.

"McKay alive?"

"Yes."

"That's how you live with it."

John felt a hand on his shoulder and he tried not to flinch.

"You have a genius saving your ass all the time, Sheppard. If he thinks you're worth saving, maybe you should consider that you actually _are_."

John wanted to ask O'Neill if Sam or Daniel Jackson saving his ass was what had made the General realise he was worth saving, but it was too personal and too close to confirming O'Neill's assumption that John might, maybe, possibly have some issues.

O'Neill didn't wait for a reply any way. The weight was abruptly gone from John's shoulder and O'Neill got to his feet in a very sprightly manner for a man who complained about his knees almost as much as Rodney reminded people he had a citrus allergy.

John heard O'Neill's footsteps walking away and listened to them until they had faded completely. The distant sound of the waves were somewhat soothing; the breeze a balm against his skin. He sighed knowing he should get up, take the cooler back, get some dinner.

But he stayed where he was instead because McKay might be alive, and maybe that was ultimately how he'd reconcile what he'd done - what he'd had to do with Wallace, but not right that minute; not right then when he thought O'Neill might know John too well, despite not really knowing him at all.

o-O-o

Rodney marched into Sam's office, and threw himself into a chair beside her desk. "You know they're drinking beer on a balcony. What kind of an example is that?"

Sam's eyebrows rose and she looked up from her computer. There was a 'so what?' hovering in the air between them and a faint line of annoyance forming between her eyebrows.

Rodney's hands flew around his head, communicating his unhappiness.

Sam looked as though she was struggling not to laugh at him. "I'm sure Jack doesn't have designs on your spot if that's what you're worried about."

Rodney sniffed. He was proud of the friendships he'd made during his time on Atlantis, especially his friendship with John which had always managed to delight and bemuse him in equal measure. "Why did O'Neill want to drink beer with him anyway? And isn't it against your military's antiquated rules on fraternisation?"

Sam sighed and he noticed her hands move across her keyboard saving her work before she turned to him. "Has John talked to you about what happened with Wallace in the lab?"

Rodney froze. "Is this a test?" He blurted out, throwing a hand out toward her. "Am I supposed to recite my name and all that other stuff now?"

Sam glared at him. "Has he talked to you?" She repeated in her 'I am your leader and you will obey me' voice; it was insanely hot but for once the subject was distracting enough for him not to enjoy it.

"No." Rodney shook his head and looked down. "I tried to, you know," he gestured weakly in Sam's vague direction, "but he...no." He looked up at her again, almost defiantly because clams probably talked more than Sheppard; they should do some scientific experiment to confirm that.

"And he hasn't talked to Teyla or Ronon?" Sam pressed. A lock of hair escaped her chignon and drifted down to rest against her cheek.

Rodney's crooked lips quirked downwards. "Well, Teyla's been distracted what with her people being missing and she's also a Pegasus native which means that they don't really view alliances with the Wraith in a good way and..." he stopped when it occurred to him he was babbling and looked over at Sam.

"So that would be a no to Teyla." Sam said firmly. "And Ronon?"

Rodney was certain that John hadn't discussed it with their Satedan team-mate. He'd sent Ronon back to Atlantis before the 'lab accident.' Maybe Ronon wouldn't have an issue with what had happened but Rodney thought John would rather not take the risk of finding out for certain. He shook his head again. But his mind was already running ahead and putting together why Sam had asked him about it at all.

"You think Sheppard needs to talk about it." Rodney deduced out loud. Not that he thought John _would_ talk about it with O'Neill, and he secretly _hoped_ John didn't because Rodney didn't want it to be O'Neill that John talked to. On the other hand, Rodney knew John wouldn't talk to Rodney about it unless Rodney forced the issue.

John had talked a man into being Wraith food to save Rodney's sister no matter how many times John wanted to reframe it as 'presenting a situation.' Rodney wasn't the most self-aware man but even he knew there was a lot of unsaid things that would end up being said if they talked about it; scary things about John, about himself, about how far they would go to save each other that Rodney shied away from thinking about. He was too much of a coward not to take the out that John had offered him in silence.

"He won't you know." Rodney said out loud. "Talk."

Sam made a humming sound that might have been agreement. She looked as though she was about to say something else when she smiled instead. "Looks like your spot's opened up again."

Rodney looked through the glass and saw O'Neill approaching. Sam was already waving him into the office and Rodney wanted to protest that he wasn't finished and, hello, manners? But more urgent was the fact that John wasn't with him.

Rodney was already heading to the door when it opened and O'Neill entered.

"What?" Rodney demanded furiously. "You left him there on his own? With beer? Are you _insane_?" He barrelled past O'Neill.

Rodney planned vengeance on O'Neill the entire walk, only letting go of the half-formed plan when he finally stepped out onto the balcony and was slapped in the face by a snap of cold air.

Any and all words that had sprung up as intended greetings vanished between one blink of an eye and another when Rodney got close enough to John to look at him. John looked weary; worn. He looked his age for the first time that Rodney could remember, excepting Wraith feeding torture sessions. The shadow of a beard along John's jaw-line looked darker and rougher; the all too familiar shadows under his eyes seemed deeper and heavier.

John glanced up at him for a moment before frantically turning away and raising the bottle he held to lips. Rodney abruptly realised that whatever had been said between them, O'Neill had gotten to John. He sat down carefully next to his friend, avoiding the puddle of beer that had formed on one side of the balcony.

Rodney counted the four empty bottles and frowned. "How many of these did you drink?"

"I'm not drunk." John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at the bottle in his hand.

Rodney intercepted the bottle before it travelled back to John's lips.

"Hey!" John protested, reaching for it.

Rodney held it away from John and poured it over the edge of the balcony before setting it down with the other bottles.

John subsided with a glower. "I was drinking that."

"You're drunk." Rodney stated bluntly and with a faint note of shock because John never got drunk _drunk_. Oh, he pretended like he did, but Rodney had seen him pouring glasses of ale and wine into alien plant pots off-world and on Atlantis John usually stopped after one drink just in case there was a Wraith attack or a Genii invasion or an Ancient machine explosion or another Pegasus surprise waiting for them.

John's eyes glittered at him in the semi-darkness. "I'm not drunk but even if I was drunk, I'm allowed to get drunk."

"So that's a yes then, and actually, for the record I'm pretty sure you're not allowed." Rodney said.

John snorted. "I'm not allowed to do lots of stuff, Rodney, but that's never stopped me, has it?"

The bitterness grated along Rodney's skin like sandpaper. He stood up. "Come on."

John looked up at him, quizzically.

"We should get you back to your room so you can throw-up and go to bed, hopefully in that order." Rodney said impatiently, snapping his fingers to get John moving.

John sighed and Rodney stooped, placed a hand under John's arm and started to pull. John didn't resist and let himself be dragged off the floor. Rodney took a stumbling step back as John staggered. By the time, they got steady, Rodney had one arm wrapped around John's back and fisted into his BDU shirt, another holding tight to a handful of material at the front. John was holding onto Rodney just as tightly; one hand gripping his shoulder and the other, his right upper arm.

"I might be drunker than I thought." John breathed out with a grimace.

"Really, Sheppard? What gave it away?" Rodney snapped and pushed him back in the direction of the building.

"John." John said firmly.

"What?"

"You called me Sheppard." John pointed out. "You've been calling me John lately."

"I have?" Rodney took a moment to think about that. Huh. He hadn't realised it but he had. He wondered when that had happened. Of course, he'd been thinking about John as John for a long while and not Major or Colonel or Sheppard. Unless he was annoyed with him and then he really did think about him as Colonel Sheppard rather than John. Which _what_? Was he his mother? Because Rodney could remember his own mother referring to him as Meredith McKay when she was upset; Jeannie did the same thing. She always called him Meredith when she was pissed off with him; Mer when she was happy with him.

John staggered and Rodney tightened his grip as they navigated the thankfully empty corridor. "Seriously, how drunk are you? Did you drink all four on your own?"

"Two." John said simply, listing off to the side.

Rodney tugged John back into line. "Two?" He couldn't quite believe that John had gotten drunk on only two beers.

"Just...didn't have much to eat today." John said.

Rodney bought that as the explanation. He knew John had a tendency to stop eating when he was nervous unlike Rodney who had a tendency to eat everything in sight. "You're an idiot!"

"I didn't think throwing up on camera would go in my favour." John shot back.

"Yes. Well." Rodney conceded the point, thrown by John's mention of the day's events. "Should we even be talking about that?"

"Probably not." John agreed.

There was an awkward pause and Rodney had never been so grateful to see a transporter. It was only a few minutes later, that they reached John's room. Rodney helped John inside and ignored the other man's murmured protest that he could handle it.

John placed a hand on his belly when the door slid shut behind them. "OK, I think it's time for the throwing up part of the plan."

"Oh now you're following one of my plans?" Rodney asked swiftly, already ushering John toward the bathroom. He almost pushed him into the toilet but it was not a moment too soon as John promptly vomited into the bowl. Rodney swiftly left but he kept the door open so he could still see John.

Rodney pottered, wondering for a long moment if he shouldn't go in search of some food. Toast. Crackers. Soup. Something. But that would mean leaving. He hunted around the room and found a power bar, a packet of chips and some soda. He placed it all out on the table by the small sofa.

It was another ten minutes before John staggered to his feet, flushed the toilet and peered out of the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower."

Rodney huffed and crossed his arms. "If you're not out in ten minutes, I'm coming in."

John pointedly shut the door.

Rodney could hear the sound of the spray. He logged onto John's spare laptop, abandoned on the insanely tidy desk, and started to work. Finally, after what felt like days, he heard the shower stop and water running in the sink; the faint sound of teeth being brushed. He checked the clock. The bathroom door opened and John stood holding onto the jamb, one towel slung around his hips, another around his neck. He looked like he was about to fall over.

Rodney tsked at him loudly and got up. He steered John to the bed and handed him the soda. "You need to replace fluids."

John obediently drank while Rodney's eyes scoured over him. John's skin was damp and red in places; water clinging. He was a wet mess.

"Clothes." Rodney decreed. He looked around wildly and headed to the dresser. He opened enough drawers to pull out a faded black t-shirt, sweats and a pair of boxers. He flung them all in John's direction and shifted back to the laptop to work for a few minutes while John dressed.

"I'm going to sleep." John announced.

Rodney looked over his shoulder. John was lying flat on top of the bed, dressed, although a damp patch on the thigh of the sweatpants gave away that he'd only made a cursory effort to dry off.

"OK." Rodney turned back to the laptop.

"That was your cue to go." John huffed out, tiredly.

"What if you have to vomit again?"

"I'm pretty sure I threw up my stomach lining." John said dryly. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Rodney knew he didn't have a reason to stay. John was safely back in his room; a radio call away from help if he needed it. It had been an exhausting and stressful twenty-four hours. John probably would sleep off the rest of the booze and be fine in the morning. But Rodney couldn't quite shake the image of John on the balcony; huddled into himself and looking..._broken_ despite neither of them wanting to admit it.

"I'm sorry." Rodney said.

There was an unnatural stillness to everything for a millisecond before Rodney got to his feet and started pacing. "I know we're not supposed to talk about it, and that you don't want to talk about it, but I think we should talk about it rather than you drinking and..."

"Rodney."

"And I swear if you start spouting your name, rank and serial number at me, or so help me that 'you presented the situation', I'll punch you!" Rodney rounded on John, an arm thrust out towards him.

John propped himself up on his elbows and stared at Rodney.

"I hate O'Neill." Rodney stated fervently.

John gave a tired laugh and met Rodney's unhappy gaze with one of his own. "It's OK, Rodney."

But it wasn't because Rodney _knew_ what he'd done to John. He didn't know it at the time - or, at least, he didn't think he did. He thought he'd been too strung out on the fear that Jeannie was going to die and desperation that he couldn't help her to realise what it was that he was doing when he'd gone to see John. Because Rodney should have gone straight to the Wraith really and told the Wraith to eat him but instead he'd gone to John because...because he knew John would save - save Jeannie.

Rodney babbled it all out in an endless stream of words. His hands dropped from the air as he stumbled to a halt, breathing heavily because he'd forgotten to take a breath the entire time he'd been speaking. He waited for John to yell at him.

"Yeah, I kind of already knew that, Rodney." John said quietly.

"And you're OK with that?" Rodney asked bewildered.

John sighed and swung around to sit on the long edge of the bed. He patted the space next to him.

"Are you going to hit me if I sit there or something because if that's what's going to happen then I'd rather stay over here."

John blew out an irritated breath. "I'm not going to hit you, Rodney."

But if Rodney didn't get his butt over there he might, Rodney concluded from the hint of annoyance colouring the way John said his name. Rodney walked over and sat down. He could scent the familiar soap on John's skin and weirdly it calmed him down.

"Rodney," John began eventually, "you did the right thing."

"What you did..." Rodney trailed off abruptly, unsure what he could say.

"It was my job." John stated firmly.

"To convince people to feed themselves to a Wraith?" Rodney stuttered out in disbelief.

"To save you."

And the truth of it was suddenly there, out in the open. Because as much as Rodney had pretended John had done it to save Jeannie, he'd always known better.

Neither of them looked at the other.

"O'Neill got it – gets it." John said slowly. "That's why..." he shrugged away the rest of the explanation.

Rodney absently nodded in agreement. Rodney knew O'Neill well enough to know he'd do anything to save his team. Hell, if it had been Sam or Jackson or Teal'c with their lives on the line, O'Neill would probably have chucked Wallace in with the Wraith with no discussion and said bon appétit.

And Rodney even knew if it had been Ronon or Teyla, John would have done the same thing he had done for Rodney although Rodney suspected that neither of their Pegasus team-mates would ever have asked to have been saved. But Rodney had, despite not really knowing that was what he was asking at the time, and he had to live with John stepping up to the plate and talking someone else into killing themselves to save Rodney.

But that wasn't what scared him. What scared him was that it was too easy to be OK with it because Rodney thought he would talk someone into feeding themselves to a Wraith to save John too. Not that it was likely that he could convince someone to feed themselves to a Wraith because he didn't have John's charm and his usual method of bludgeoning people with his words would probably not work despite...

"We OK?"

John's question pulled Rodney out of his thoughts and he felt a flush of shame because he really should have been the one asking John that. He looked over and saw John looking back at him. His hazel eyes were steady; sober.

"We're OK." Rodney agreed tentatively.

"So..." John gestured at his bed.

"Right." Rodney sprang up and headed to the laptop to transfer his work to his own machine and shut John's down. "Right. You should get some sleep."

John settled back.

Rodney walked to the door and hovered again; looking back at Sheppard sprawled across the short, narrow bed. "You need anything? Water? Food?"

"Rodney."

"Right, I'll be..." Rodney pointed at the door which obligingly opened and Rodney suspected John had instructed it to do so with his mind.

Rodney stepped through into the corridor and the door swished shut behind him.

John was OK. He would be back to his normal self in the morning. They were OK; their friendship was intact. Intellectually, Rodney knew that as he made his way to his lab. They saved each other; it was what they did even if what they did to save each other occasionally scared the hell out of him. And Rodney couldn't deny the stray thought that he would be happier when he could bundle the realisation of exactly how far they would go to save each other back into the deep, dark recesses of denial.

o-O-o

John couldn't deny that he felt a whole lot better when he entered the mess for breakfast the next morning. He'd woken up without the panicky feeling in his chest for the first time since Rodney had stood in a room in Cheyenne Mountain and offered to feed himself to a Wraith. There was also a strange sense of...John searched for a word and _acceptance_ was the only one that came to mind.

He and Rodney knew the truth of it and it was comforting that they'd actually acknowledged that openly. That O'Neill knew and understood because he'd do the same was also weirdly comforting in a way that John didn't want to examine too closely.

John could have done without the chain of command lecture, but he'd spent his morning run with Ronon thinking about it and had determined somewhat sheepishly that maybe O'Neill had a point. John usually didn't have respect for the chain of command even when he had respect for his immediate CO.

He grabbed his breakfast automatically as he sorted mentally through the list of things that needed to happen that day. Lorne and he had pushed back some stuff because of the investigation and now they had to work out how they fitted it all back in. He whirled around to find a table and his eyes landed on O'Neill sat at a table by the window, a laptop beside him and spooning oatmeal into his mouth.

There were two empty tables either side of the General, another to the right in the centre of the room as though to emphasise that the rest of the expedition were giving him a wide berth.

Before he could think about it, John walked up to O'Neill and cleared his throat. "May I join you, sir?"

O'Neill's gaze snapped up from the laptop and he closed it with his free hand while waving at John to take the seat opposite with his spoon.

John slid into the chair and began to eat.

"You look surprisingly bright-eyed this morning." O'Neill commented in a disgusted tone.

"I threw up the beer." John admitted easily, slicing into his omelette.

"Waste of beer." O'Neill said, stirring his oatmeal and taking another bite.

"That's what Rodney said." John smiled at the flare of outrage on O'Neill's face. He fidgeted with his cutlery for a moment. "About yesterday, sir..." he trailed off, still unsure what he could say.

"If it makes it easier for you, Sheppard, you could pretend it was my way of thanking you for saving my ass a couple of times." O'Neill sounded amused again.

"Thank you, sir." John said, a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach that spoke to his genuine appreciation for O'Neill's understanding. "And I, uh, I want you to know," he motioned with his knife, "that I'll try with the chain of command thing." He waited until he had O'Neill's gaze locked with his. "I do respect Colonel Carter, sir."

"Glad to hear it." O'Neill stated simply.

Ronon joined them. He nodded at O'Neill and sat down to shovel an impressively large amount of food away. He contributed little to the discussion O'Neill started on aerodynamics and the pros and cons of F302s over puddle jumpers.

Teyla was next and O'Neill did the gentlemanly thing of rising and getting her seated beside him; a gesture which apparently pleased her because she beamed at him. John was happy Teyla was actually smiling; it had been a rare sight since her people had gone missing. O'Neill went one better, told Teyla to call him 'Jack' and asked her if it was OK to ask about the search for her people. They discussed leads and lack thereof for the next ten minutes with O'Neill contributing some helpful suggestions about gathering intel.

It was about then that Rodney arrived in the mess. John tracked his progress through the line and he was ready for the clatter of the tray as Rodney sat down next to Ronon.

Rodney got straight to the point. "Do you know how much beer you wasted last night?"

"I'll get more sent out." O'Neill promised in a mild tone that warned Rodney not to push it.

Suddenly, O'Neill's head twisted around to the front of the mess and John wasn't surprised to find Sam entering. John reminded himself that his CO's love life was none of his business.

Sam joined them, adding a chair to the end of the table. "We've scheduled your departure for fourteen hundred." She told O'Neill briskly.

"You can't stay another couple of days, sir?" John asked and ignored Rodney choking on his coffee at the question.

"Have to get back. Places to go; people to intimidate. Politicians to shoot." O'Neill shrugged.

"Really?" Rodney blurted out.

O'Neill stared at him. "No."

"But not for lack of trying." Sam said dryly.

O'Neill shot a look at her but Sam merely rolled her eyes and started to peel her orange.

"If you would excuse us, Ronon and I should be on our way." Teyla motioned at Ronon to move and he did with an easy grin.

Rodney cast a wary look at Sam's orange, which John was fairly sure she had gotten to mess with Rodney's head, and got up too. "Well, some of us have important work so..."

John sketched a goodbye wave, his mouth full of hot coffee. He caught a smug look on Sam's face and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"I might have sent him some suggestions for the Replicator code." Sam explained.

John was amused because he knew exactly how demented that would drive Rodney especially if one of her suggestions worked out.

Sam smiled back at him, her blue eyes bright with mischief.

Lorne approached and all three of them indicated for him to join them. Lorne shook his head but he smiled. "Thank you for the offer, sirs. I just wanted to remind Colonel Sheppard we have a meeting with Corporal Manning to go over inventory scheduled for oh-eight-hundred."

"Care to join us, General?" John said, setting his mug down.

O'Neill smirked at him. "Inventory, huh? Well, as much as I would love to, Sheppard, I'll have to decline."

John grinned back and turned to Lorne. "I'll meet you there."

Lorne took it for the dismissal it was and headed off.

Sam popped the last of the orange segment into her mouth and got to her feet. "Lunch, sir?"

"Sounds good, Carter." O'Neill agreed.

The look they shared was enough to make John blush and he suddenly found the bottom of his coffee cup very interesting. Huh; so apparently they were together. When he looked up again, O'Neill was smirking at him again.

O'Neill gestured with his head towards the door. "Don't you have inventory?"

John winced and accepted the dismissal.

Between the inventory meeting that wouldn't end and lunch catching up with more paperwork in his office, John barely made it to the gate room for O'Neill's departure. He got to the control centre just in time and Chuck nodded discreetly in the direction of the office where O'Neill and Sam were saying goodbye. They came out with their professional masks in place but John saw the small brush of hands as O'Neill told her it had been a blast.

John escorted him down the stairs as they dialled the Stargate. Saying thank you again seemed like overkill and John was grateful when Rodney showed up unexpectedly.

"I didn't know you cared, McKay." O'Neill drawled sardonically.

Rodney frowned. "I don't, I just..."

"Wanted to make sure I was leaving?" O'Neill smiled with more understanding and tolerance than John might have had if their positions were reversed. He slid John a look that stated _my genius is so much better than your genius _and as if to underscore that, O'Neill glanced up to where Sam was watching them.

The wormhole erupted in a loud splash.

"Midway is signalling, sir." Sam called down. "You're cleared to go through."

O'Neill nodded up at her and they exchanged another poignant look. He looked back at John. "Remember your promise, Sheppard." And then, without ceremony O'Neill walked into the wormhole and was gone.

"Promise? What promise?" Rodney asked as they headed back up the stairs.

"Nothing you need to worry about." John said firmly.

"Huh. Was there an actual promise? Or was that some kind of secret Air Force code for something else?"

"Yes, Rodney." John rested a hand briefly on Rodney's shoulder. "It was secret Air Force code for don't do anything stupid."

Sam had already disappeared into her office and John figured she would probably need some time alone. He steered Rodney in the direction of the mess.

"Well, I tell you that all the time. You never listen to me so I don't see why you should listen to him." Rodney pointed out brusquely. He cast a look back towards Sam's office. "You know they're together? I really don't see what she sees in him."

John knew the answer and he smiled back at Rodney. "Maybe she thinks he's worth saving."

Rodney looked at him, startled. "Well, she is a genius even if she's not me. So, she's probably right. About the saving thing and him being worth it." He stopped suddenly and John stopped with him. "Wait. Are we actually talking about them or..."

John grinned at Rodney because it was so _Rodney_. He was alive and John had saved him.

O'Neill was right: John could live with that.

John patted Rodney's shoulder, giving him a small push to get moving again. "Hey, want to go for a beer later?"

The End.


End file.
